Reverb (20 page)

She laughs, goes to him, holds his head to her stomach. “I love this head.” She bends and kisses the top of it. Fine wisps of his hair cling to her lips as she pulls away. He lifts his tiny, pudgy hands to her—his purple, wet, sticky fingers reaching for her, and she recoils. “Keep those little things away from me. Arms up.” Cameron lifts his arms and she lifts him from the highchair and holds him away from her as she takes him to the sink.

I watch their antics, and eat. The eggs are salty, and rich. It hurts to swallow. Chew them to mush and then sort of let them slide down my throat.

Cameron’s on the counter top. Elisabeth has hold of his hands and is rubbing them together under the tap. He shakes his hands about, splashing water everywhere. Pure joy on his round face, his mouth open wide with fits of laughter. She turns off the water minutes later and Cameron protests with a long, low groan. She dries his hands with a dishtowel and sets him down. “Muki! Muki! Mama.”

“Mr. Monkey is in your room. You can go get him.”

“Get Muki. Bye-bye Mama.”

“Bye baby, Cam.”

We both watch his awkward gait as he toddles from the kitchen and disappears down the hall. She throws the dishtowel on the counter top and then leans back against it, and looks at me. “He’ll be gone awhile. On the way to get his monkey, or once he’s gotten Mr. Monkey, something will catch his attention and he’ll forget about coming back.”

“How great to be so easily captivated.”

“I guess. Jack was just like that and it bothered the hell out of me.”

I laugh. But by her narrowed eyes and furrowed brow, I get that it pisses her off. “I just meant I envy Cameron’s sense of wonder. Reminds me what it used to be like.”

“Are you kidding? You were just as amazed as Cameron with the butterflies. I saw it on your face. It was beautiful.” She gives me a soft, shy smile. “What I meant was, Jack was captivated by whatever struck his fancy at the moment, which rarely turned out to be me.” Her gentle smile turns sad, and again I glimpse Julia.

Look down at my eggs, feel them coming back up. Try to hold them down by swallowing repeatedly, put the fork down in the scattered remains and push the plate away.

“You okay?”

No.
“Yeah.”

“You should go back to bed. I’ll get the Tylenol and bring it in.”

I stand. Shiver. “Thanks for breakfast.” I should walk out the door, go back up to my place, get away from them. I look out, at the rain now sheeting the kitchen’s back window. Still doubtful I’d make it up the hill, especially in this weather. And, of course, I’d have to argue with her about leaving. The thought is exhausting. Her bed is soft, and warm. And I didn’t dream, after the nightmares when I dozed. Best sleep I’ve had since I got to the island—

She takes my hand. At first I resist, but she looks at me, into me. “Don’t be afraid to sleep. I’ll wake you if you have a bad dream.” She pulls me gently forward.

I let her lead me down the hall again. We pass Cameron in his room, sitting on several pillows on the floor flipping through the pages of a huge picture book. She pauses at the doorway, lets go of my hand and I almost run into her.

“PU! Could you be any stinkier?” She exclaims to her son. She turns back to me. “Go to bed. I'll be there in a minute.”

I can’t smell a thing, my nose and lungs still heavily congested. I continue down the hall, get to her room, crawl into bed and curl under the blanket.

I shouldn’t be here.

Walls are beige. Ceiling’s beige. The floor is fucking beige. And everything is covered with squares of quilted cloth. I'm in the rubber room. I’m not strapped down, though I’m naked, except for the straight jacket. Huddled up against a corner of the small room, trying in vain to get my arms out of the contraption that holds them pinned to my sides.

This is madness. I’m not crazy.
I shouldn’t be here.

I stand, move to the door and look out the four by six inch window but see only the row of rusting metal doors with tiny windows like mine across the dim, dilapidated hallway.

Let me out
, I want to scream, but don’t, afraid of the outcome. Instead, I slam my shoulder into the padded door to open it. There’s the slightest of give and I try again, and again, wondering if the door is giving way or it’s just me wishing. Move to the back wall and try slamming into it at a run, then try that again and again, slamming myself around the room like a madman.

Thick sound of suction as two huge orderlies come in. I’m against the back wall and charge at them full force, which isn’t much momentum with just eight feet of launch. “NO!” I scream, knowing what they’re going to do to me.

“It’s okay, James. You’re okay.”

Can hear her but can’t see her.

An orderly slams my face into the pillowed wall suffocating me. I’m pinned, choking for breath. Helpless.

“James! Wake up! No one is hurting you. Everything is fine. You’re fine.” Elisabeth strokes my hair. It feels nice. Tingles.

Orderly holding me shows me the syringe, and I struggle wildly to prevent him from poking me, then feel the needle in the side of my ass. Stings as the drug goes in and I know I’m going out, like it or not, fight it or not, and I’m scared out of my mind what I’ll wake to.

“You’re safe, James. Shhh...Just relax.” Elisabeth's voice is soft but firm. “You’re safe here with me.”

I’m suddenly aware I lay in her bed. She gently runs her fingers through my hair. Don’t open my eyes, though, afraid she’ll see my fear.

“You’re fine. Go back to sleep now.” Elisabeth says.

Feel the drug knocking me out, heaviness encases me, the orderly release me, and I fall to the padded floor and stare up at him. Other guy grabs my legs and drags me to the center of the room, then spreads my ankles wide and restrains them with padded leather belts. But not even my terror will keep me conscious with whatever drug he’s given me...

Elisabeth is beside me in bed, leaning up on her elbow looking down at me. I’m disoriented and tense, afraid, then feel awkward, exposed. I sit up and so does she. She sits cross-legged facing me. I lean up against the wall behind me, pull my hair out of my eyes. It’s morning. Sunrise. Through her bedroom’s narrow side window, and low, knotty pines, bright sun rays shoot over the hills behind the house.

“Hi.” A warm, casual smile spreads across her face, eclipsing the sun that floods the room. She radiates lightness. Bells of her wind chime resonate with the morning breeze, the lazy Mediterranean lapping out a soft, even rhythm.

“Hi.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Better, thanks.”

“Good. You look totally different.” She gives me a shy smile. “Normal, I mean. The color of your skin, your eyes, even your pupils look about right.”

“I think the fever broke last night.”

She reaches towards me to put her hand on my forehead and I pull back, tense, clench my fists but manage to refrain from striking her. She hesitates only a second then leans forward to rest her hand just above my eyebrows, and a tidal wave hits me.

Desire. Agony. Lust. Frustration, anger, panic overwhelm me instantly.

Run, James.

She pulls back and stares at me. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

I look away, pull my hair out of my eyes again. I do not look at her. “I’m sorry. It’s just…” Stop to catch my breath. Feel like a foolish schoolboy.

“Hey. What is it?”

“I just felt dizzy, that’s all.” I try to give her a reassuring grin but know I don’t quite get there. Her concerned expression remains.

“You feel okay now?” 

“Yeah.”
No.
“I’m feeling pretty good, in fact.” I have to get out of here. “I think I’m gonna go for a run.”
If I actually did, I’d probably pass out.

“You really think running right now is a good idea?”

No.
“Yeah. Quickest way to build strength. I’ll take it easy, though.” I get off the bed and stand looking down at her. “Thank you for the expert mothering.” I crack a smile. She gives me a tentative smile back, but her confusion is not lost on me.

“You sure you won’t stay for breakfast, at least .”

“No thanks. Not a good idea to eat before running. I’ll fix something after.”

“What? You have no food in your place. Come back down later. I’ll make you something.”

“I’m fine now. Stop worrying about me. I can take care of myself.”

“Could have fooled me.”

I grin. “I’ll talk to you later.” Then I turn away and leave without looking back.

It’s cool, crisp and quiet outside. Listen to myself struggling to breathe all the way up the hill. Legs hurt.
Don’t stop.
Keep moving.
Lungs hurt.
Don’t care. Don’t stop.

I hurt her back there.
Not good. S
hould never have been there in the first place. She’s not part of the plan. That was wild when she touched me. Electric, like static shock. Hurt. But felt good. Connected.
Talk about cognitive dissonance.

My house is cold. The floor is hard when I collapse onto the sleeping bag, crawl inside and huddle into myself to get warm. Close my eyes and again see Elisabeth’s face, the curve of her neck, and swell of her breasts in firelight. Can’t recall what we’d talked about, but her image lingers as I fall asleep.

Chapter Five

He sits on the floor of his kitchen, cross-legged in front of the refrigerator, door open wide, his head resting on top of the crisper drawers that line the bottom of the fridge.

“What are you doing? Are you okay?” Elisabeth holds Cameron on her hip while he squiggles and whines to get down.

James bashes his head into the glass shelf as he moves to get out of the fridge. A bottle of water falls into his lap as he moves back to stand. “I’m fine. Thanks. Just looking for water.” He gives her this disarming grin, stands, opens the bottled water and takes a long drink. “What’s going on?”

“I knocked. The back door was open.” All of a sudden she feels stupid for coming up there. “I didn’t see you running. You didn’t come back down for supper...and I got nervous.” He’d already proven himself to be suicidal, and had yet to deny he may still be.

“Sorry. Fell asleep.” He takes another drink of water. Still wears what looks like the same jeans and dark flannel shirt he’s been in for days. Shirtsleeves cover his hands to the base of his long fingers.

Cameron manages to annoy her sufficiently to get her to release him. He toddles to the cabinet and began investigating.

“Have you been sleeping all day?”

“Mostly. Read a little. Thought I heard you two laughing on the beach this afternoon.”

She smiles. “You did.”

They both watch Cameron opening the cabinet doors, and then slam them with a bang! James flinches with every slam. Cameron’s bored and it’s guaranteed he’ll get destructive if she doesn’t get him out of here.

“Cameron, knock it off. Come here, baby.”

James gives her a grateful smile. Again she feels awkward, silly for coming. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“No, not yet.”

“Come down. I’ll make you something.”

“That’s okay. I don’t want to keep crashing in on you.”

“I have to make dinner for Cameron and me anyway. Come down. Join us.” The thought of him up here, alone, cold and starving bothers her. “James, unless you went down into town today, you still have no food in this house. Suppose you could starve yourself to death, if you’re still aiming to get there. But if you do, could you leave me your car—just write up a simple will bequeathing it to me before Cam and I take off back down the hill.”

His eyes narrow—forest green peeks through dark lashes as his face breaks into an ear-to-ear grin. “What are you making for dinner?”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.” She grins back. “Come on. Let’s go.” She picks up Cameron who latches onto her hip and they proceed to the back door. James follows them out, down the narrow dirt path to their house.

She makes a vegetable stir-fry. Cameron goes to the living room and plays with his books and trains. James stands with her at the kitchen counter cutting up veggies, while Elisabeth wok fries onions and ginger. He cuts each precisely—the string beans perfectly even in length, the red peppers cut in equal width strips.

“You don’t have to get Carthaginian with the vegetables. I kind of need them now.”

He laughs. “A friend of mine used to use the exact same expression. That’s wild.” Her image must have come to mind because his expression softens and Elisabeth senses his distance.

“That is wild. Didn’t know the story of Carthage was that common.”

“She wasn’t common.” He pushes cut up vegetables off the cutting board with a knife into the wok. They sizzle when they hit it. He smiles, puts the cutting board back on the counter top and begins slicing the zucchini.

Elisabeth watches him as she stirs. He seems lost in his head. “Who was she?”

He smiles to himself. “She was brilliant, and beautiful, and driven. We were both driven, except I took it right over the edge.” He pushes the rest of the vegetables from the cutting board into the wok, puts the board down, leans back against the counter, folds his arms across his chest and watches her cook. By his posture she knows not to probe further. The kitchen smells of onions and ginger. She spoon-feeds him a sample of the concoction she’s created.

“Mmm. Good. Nice job.” Then he snatches a slice of pepper from the wok.

“Cameron! Get in here sweetie pea. Dinner!”

James covers his ear with her shout. “Does that really work?”

She blushes. “Never, but I continue to be hopeful.” She goes and gets her son.

Back in the kitchen, James stirs the contents in the wok. She sticks Cameron in his high chair and gets his small plastic Elmo plate from the drying rack. Then she picks out a few well-cooked vegetables from the stir-fry and put them on Cameron’s plate, which she sets on the tray in front of him. He munches contently while James helps her prepare their plates, and sets them on the table.

“Sit.” She instructs James and hands him a fork. “Eat. Please. Don’t wait for me. Do you want water or milk?”

“Water. Thanks.”

She pulls off the top of a sippy cup and fills it with water from a bottle in the fridge and serves it to him. He smiles at the big red Clifford dog printed on the plastic cup. “I have a total of four plates, two bowls, one mug and three sippy cups, and a small collection of utensils. My wok, my iron skillet and my steamer are the only kitchenware I brought from Israel. And I haven’t missed one of those things I so desperately seemed to need back in Tel Aviv.” She sits down to join them.

James waits for her to eat, then takes a bite of his food. “It’s good. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Elisabeth takes another bite. Onions are caramelized and coat the vegetables and shrimp with a touch of sweetness.

They munch contentedly, and for the first time since Jack died she feels a grounded sense of calm. It’s nice with James here, cooking with someone, having someone to cook for. His presence fills a void she hadn’t recognized existed, but felt looming. “It’s been nice living minimally. Think I used to use things to fill me up. Crammed our place with furniture, artwork, photos of friends and family. A crowded house felt less lonely, since even when Jack was home, he wasn’t really there so much of the time.”

James flashes a guilty grin then takes on that distant expression again, like he’s back with his
uncommon
love. Elisabeth keeps talking to keep him in the room with her.

“Don’t find a need for things here. Cameron fills me up for the most part. Things just don’t seem to do it for me anymore.”

“Know what you mean. You’ve seen my place, how I live. There is a kind of freedom to having nothing.”

The way he phrases it chills her. “When you have nothing, you’ve got nothing to lose. Is that it?”

He cocks his head, stares at her. “Something like that.”

She frowns. “Committing to nothing is a harsh way to live. Lonely.”

“Safe.” He looks at his plate. “It is lonely out here in the middle of nowhere sometimes. The silence gets to me.” James gives her a quick smile. “I’ve never been all that enamored with silence. And lonely is a recent and unwelcome discovery.”

“I don’t understand.” She watches him take another bite. “Do you mean to tell me you never felt lonely?”

“Not never, but rarely. And never to the degree I feel it now. Until recently, I used music to fill that void. But sometimes the quiet out here sucks me into black, an aloneness I never knew existed.”

“Well, Cameron and I sure blow the hell out of silence.”

James laughs. “Thank you. It’s been nice listening to you guys play and laugh on the beach. I find myself actually looking forward to hearing you out there.”

Elisabeth can’t wipe the smile off her face. “Well, we’re much more entertaining up close and personal. You’re welcome to join us anytime.”

He smiles. Nods. “Perhaps I will. Thanks.”

Cameron has turned his red pepper into a writing implement and is rubbing it in broad strokes across his tray. James watches him, scrunches his face up in disgust then looks at the remains in his own plate.

She laughs. “Finished?”

He nods, gets up and puts his plate in the sink. Elisabeth gets up, takes her plate and Cameron’s to the sink. James helps her clear the remaining dishes from the table, puts them in the sink and begins washing them. They work in silence, her drying what he puts in the rack, both listening to Cameron’s contented cooing as he rolls peas around on his tray.

“Thank you again for dinner,” James says when the dishes are done. “I should take off.”

“Stay awhile. Give me a few minutes to put Cameron to bed, and have some tea with me.”

He doesn’t answer. He leans against the counter and watches Cameron, but she gets the impression he’s somewhere else in his head.

“You with me, James?” She dries her hands on the dishtowel, sets it on the counter.

He looks at her, his piercing green eyes searching. “Yeah. It’s just…well, it’s been a long time since I’ve been in the real world. I haven’t had more than a brief exchange with anyone in months. The other night, on the beach...the thing is, I’m not exactly sure how to be with people anymore. I don’t know what to say, what not to. I’m not sure I ever did, but now...” He lets the statement dangle, and shrugs. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’re doing fine. It’s nice to have the company.”

A smile whispers across his gorgeous face before he startles.

“Down, down, down.” Cameron bangs on his tray.

“Hold on sweetie pea.” She takes Cameron from the highchair. “Give me ten minutes to get him to bed and we can have some tea. Put some on, would you please?”

She gives Cameron a quick rinse in the bathroom sink, then puts him in his airplane onesie. While reading
One Fish, Two Fish
, she hears the kettle whistle blow, then silence. Moment later, she hears James rattling around in the living room. By the third page Cam is asleep. Elisabeth gently deposits her son in his crib, kisses him goodnight and goes to join James.

“Thought I’d get a fire going. Bit chilly in here.” He strikes a stick match along the stone face of the fireplace, and lights the newspaper he’s places at the bottom of a small pyramid of wood. “Water in the kettle is hot. I don’t know where your tea is.”

She goes back into the kitchen and makes two cups of Tetley’s. She takes a sippy cup, gives James the mug when she comes back in. He holds it close to him, cradling the mug against his flat stomach.

“Thank you. It’s good.” He takes another sip. “And dinner was excellent.”

“Suppose anything is when you’re starving.” She stands by the fireplace watching him. He shots her an insolent grin, then shakes his head and gets sucked inside. She literally feels him separate.

He’s focused on the fire but seemingly seeing some other image. And Elisabeth wants to scream, shove him, slap him—anything to get him in the room with her. “Where are you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You checked out. You did it before. You just did it now. Like you’re not here. Like I’m not here. Where do you go?”

He laughs. “Sorry. I’m here. Right here.”

“You weren’t a second ago. Where were you?”

He stares at her. “I’m not so sure if you get inside my head you’ll like what you find there. You ought to check that one at the door before you go looking.”

“Are you afraid of what I’ll find, or what I’ll show you?”

A smile spreads across his face. “Both.”

She sips her tea. His eyes stay fixed on hers. Even though he stands still he seems breathless—anxious. He takes another drink from his mug and looks back at the fire.

“I have another question.”

“Okay...”

“Do you get violent nightmares every night?”

“Pretty much. If I sleep for any length of time.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Quite a while.” He looks at her, cocks his head to the side. “You’re still at it. Look, it’s violent, and ugly, and...the past.”

“If I ask you to tell me what happened, will you?”

“Probably not. Not right now, anyway. I’m not exactly solid right now. The past couple of years really messed with my head.”

“Years?” The idea of prison even one day is horrifying, but
years
is inconceivable.

“Almost two now. I’ve only been free of it a few months, and I need to keep it that way.” He looks at the fire. “Which is why I live with nothing.”

“Is this what you want? The life you want?”

“I don’t know. It’s different than the way I use to live, to be sure. A lot more isolated.” Then he laughs. “Sort of—in the physical sense anyway.”

She watches him stare at the fire, waits for him to continue, but when he doesn't she feels compelled to fill the silence. “I came to Corfu to get away from the world, a ‘Stop! I want to get off,’ kind of thing. Thought the isolation was what I needed, but as it turns out, alone just sucks.”

He looks at her, and laughs again.

She blushes. “Are you mocking me?”

“No. I agree with you, though up until two years ago I wouldn’t have known what the hell you we’re talking about. Alone is a lot more foreboding than it used to be.” His tousled hair clings to his lashes and hangs in his eyes. He’s the poster child for the lost. He’s fixed on her, studying her, and his expression softens. “I’m sorry for what you must be going through, ‘Lisbeth. I’ve never shared the kind of commitment you had with your husband. I cannot conceive the loss. And I can’t fill it, either.”